The party under Bill o' Burnt Bay was first on the ground. Presently, the men from the Lucky Star arrived. For a time, pleasant words passed between the crews. Soon, however, a group of Lucky Star hunters gathered out of hearing of the Dictator's crew. Their voices, which had been low at first, rose angrily, and to such a pitch that the attention of Bill o' Burnt Bay was attracted. He observed their suspicious glances, their wrathful faces, their threatening gestures; and he promptly surmised that trouble of a familiar kind was brewing.

It was evident that there was to be a dispute over the possession of certain of the "tows." The rights of that dispute Bill was not in a position to determine. So far as he knew—and he was bound to stand squarely upon his own knowledge—there had been no wrong-doing on the part of his men; and, being a man who never failed in his duty to the firm, he resolved that not an ounce of "fat" which then lay under a flag of Armstrong & Son should be yielded to the Lucky Star until a higher authority than he gave the word. Needless to say, that is precisely what Tuttle expected of him.

Moving quietly, lest he should provoke the dispute, Bill warned his men to be on the alert. And it was not long before the crew of the Lucky Star, with a stout fellow at their head, advanced threateningly.

"Look here, you, Bill o' Burnt Bay," shouted the leader, "some o' your men have been stealin' our tows."

"Oh, come, now, Johnny Tott," Bill replied, good-humouredly, "that ain't our way o' gettin' a cargo."

The men of the Dictator gathered behind Bill. Bill would have been better pleased had they gathered with less haste, had there been less of the battle-light in their eyes, had they held their gaffs less tightly—but all that, of course, was beyond his control; he could only make sure to have them there to defend the rights of the firm.

"You can't scare me!" Johnny Tott flashed, angered by what he understood to be a display of force, but still trying to keep his temper. "We left twenty-two tows here last night, an' we find sixteen this mornin'. Who took the odd six?"

Bill was bent on having the question referred to the captains of the ships. They might settle it as they would. As for him—knowing from experience how quickly such encounters might come, and how violent they might be—all he desired was peaceably to protect the interests of his employers, and of the men, who had a percentage interest in every seal killed.

"I don't want t' scare you, Johnny Tott," he replied, quietly. "I thinks you've counted your flags wrong. Now, why can't we just——"

Then came an unfortunate interruption. It was a long, derisive cat-call from one of Bill's men—none other than Tim Tuttle. That was more than could be borne by men who were confident of their rights.

"Thieves!" half a dozen of the crew of the Lucky Star retorted. "A pack o' thieves!"

It was a critical moment. The Dictator's men, too, believed themselves to be in the right; and there was a limit to what they, too, could suffer. To be called thieves was perilously near that limit, already provoked, as they were, by what they thought a bold attempt to rob them of their seals.

Bill turned quickly on his own men. "Stand back!" he cried, knowing well that a rush impended.

"Thieves! Thieves!" taunted the crew of the Lucky Star.

"Keep your men quiet!" Bill roared to Johnny Tott. "There'll be trouble if you don't."

The Lucky Star men were outnumbered; but not so far outnumbered that their case would be hopeless in a hand-to-hand fight. Nevertheless, it was the part of wisdom for Johnny Tott, who was himself animated by the best motives, to keep them quiet. He faced them, berated them roundly, and threatened to "knock the first man down" who should dare to continue the disturbance. Thus encouraged, Bill o' Burnt Bay addressed his crew briefly and to the point.

"No nonsense, men!" he growled. "We wants no bloodshed here. The first man that passes me," he added, in such a way that not a man of them doubted he would make good his word, "may get hurt, an' badly hurt, afore he knows it."

It was no time for gentle dealing. Bill had strong, angry men to deal with; and the responsibility of keeping them from wronging themselves and their fellows sat heavily upon him. Confident, however, that he had them in check, he advanced to parley with Tott. All would doubtless have gone smoothly had there not been a designing man on Bill's side. That man was Tuttle, to whom the course of events was not pleasing. Perceiving, now, that an encounter was likely to be warded off, he determined to precipitate it.

"Who called me a thief?" he burst out.

Then he broke away from his fellows, and ran towards the crew of the Lucky Star, with his gaff upraised. But Bill o' Burnt Bay was quick as a flash to intercept him. He tripped Tuttle up with his gaff, fairly leaped upon the prostrate form, caught the man by the collar, dragged him back and flung him at the feet of the crew. And, meantime, the Lucky Star men, who had instantly prepared to meet Tuttle, laughed uproariously. That hearty laugh lightened the situation perceptibly.

"An' here comes Cap'n Black!" shouted one of the men.

Captain Hand of the Dictator, too, was on his way over the ice. Both skippers had observed the cessation of the work and the separation of the men into two hostile parties. Familiar as they were with such disputes, they needed no message to tell them that their presence was urgently needed on the floe. They came over the ice at full speed, at the same time trying to get at the merits of the quarrel from the men who ran to meet them; and, being fat sea-captains, both of them, and altogether unused to hurried locomotion afoot, they were quite out of breath when they met.

The skipper of the Lucky Star was a florid, peppery little man, much given to standing upon his dignity.

"Cap'n Hand," he puffed, "this is—an out—rage, sir! Is this the way——"

"'Scuse me—Cap'n B-Black—sir," the skipper of the Dictator panted, his little red eyes almost hidden by his bushy brows; "but—I'm wonder—ful s'prised—that——"

Captain Black drew a long breath, and proceeded more easily, but still with magnificent dignity. "I'm wonderful surprised t' know, sir," he said, "that this is the way Cap'n Hand makes a good v'y'ge of it every year. I never knew how before, sir."

"I'd have you t' know, sir," returned Captain Hand, bristling ominously, "that I 'lows no man t' call me a thief."

"I'd have you t' know, sir, that your men have stolen my fat."

"An' I'll have you t' know, sir, that that's t' be proved."

"Cap'n Hand, sir," declared Captain Black, swelling like a pouter-pigeon the meanwhile, "you whole crew outnumbers mine nigh two t' one, or I'd load every pound o' fat on the ice on my ship. But I tells you now, sir, that I'll have the law o' you at St. John's. If you touch them six tows I'll have you sent t' coolie for a thief, sir, if there's an honest jury in the land! Mark my words, sir, I'll do it!"

The upshot of it all was, when both captains had cut a ridiculous figure for a considerable time (and had found it out), that the crews were withdrawn to the ships, ostensibly for dinner, but really that they might be kept apart while their blood was heated. A conference was appointed for three o'clock in the afternoon; and in the interval the captains were more fully and more accurately to inform themselves by examining their respective crews. This was a very sensible agreement. So far as it went, Captain Hand was content; but, being a wise and experienced man, he foresaw that an amicable settlement of the difficulty was extremely doubtful.

"I hopes, anyhow, that 'twill not come t' blows," he told Archie, as they trudged along, for his position made it impossible for him to confide in anybody else. "'Twill be a dreadful disgrace if it comes t' blows. An' maybe 'twill be something worse."

When the men reached the Dictator, Billy Topsail was waiting on deck, keen as the rest of them to know what had happened on the ice. He had a wholesome conscience, and a reasonable courage; he had fully determined to do his duty, and was about to attract Archie Armstrong's attention—Archie was to be his first confidant—when Tuttle slipped quietly to his side, and laid a hand on his shoulder. Billy had no need to look up; he knew whose hand that was, and what the firm, increasing pressure meant.

"You better go t' the fo'c's'le, lad," Tuttle whispered in his ear.